


Pretty Boy

by MilkTeaMiku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Love, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:16:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pretty Spanish boy shoves a bouquet of flowers under his nose and tells him to stop and smell the roses, so Keith does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

There were flowers on the street that Keith took to work. He passed them every morning for a month before stopping to smell the roses – literally. It hadn’t been his idea, for the record. Flowers hadn’t meant much to him before he saw the guy working behind the stall, who was carefully arranging flowers in a vase as he hummed to some Spanish song crooning from the radio when he was not thrusting flowers at strangers.

It was a family-run store, one that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a vintage magazine. Keith wanted to take photos of it, now that he’d noticed it. People ate this kind of thing up; the kind of thing that was only beautiful when one looked at it with the right thoughts in one’s mind.

“You’re a photographer?” The pretty Spanish boy asked after he’d pulled the bouquet of roses in his arms away from Keith’s nose.

“Well, yeah,” Keith answered. He did have a camera slung around his neck. “Can I take photos of your shop?”

He’d asked it before he’d really thought about it, and soon enough he had a new project on his hands. The shop was called _Blue Morning_ and it had quite an impressive reputation, it seemed. Keith felt stupid knowing he’d never heard of it until the son’s owner had shoved a bouquet of roses under his nose as he had hurriedly rush past.

The first photo he took was taken the next day when the sun was beginning to rise. It was the first morning, and Keith was certain he’d never been excited to wake up before the sun had. The pretty Spanish boy – Lance, _his name is Lance, Keith, just remember it already dammit_ – had welcomed him over to take photos of when he was setting up. He’d said that the flowers were prettiest when they were just blooming, and boy was he right.

Lance was the prettiest when he was just blooming, too. He was sleepy in the mornings, yawning and rubbing his knuckles into his glittering eyes and wearing absolutely hideous cat slippers. It wasn’t _fair._

“I never got your name,” Lance said that morning as he carried out the display shelves. They were stair-shaped shelves, painted white with little bee patterns along the edge. They looked handmade. Keith held the door open, listened to the little tinkle of the bell as his grip sometimes faltered in his absentmindedness. 

“It’s Keith,” he said. “Keith Kogane.”

“Well, _Keith Kogane,”_ Lance said, grinning in a way that shouldn’t have been possible so early in the morning while he wore those stupid slippers, “I’m Lance Sanchez.”

Keith already knew that. He’d Googled Lance when he had gotten home the previous day and stalked his Twitter. Lance liked to make a lot of bad puns and tweeted a lot about flowers, but Keith would pretend not to know that for the rest of his life because he was definitely not a creep. Besides, it wasn’t like Lance’s profile was private or anything. Anyone could know that stuff about him. 

He began to take photos when Lance started to bring out the flowers. At first, Keith was innocent about it. When he looked through his lens everything faded away and all he could see was what his camera saw. Flowers of all shapes and colours slowly unfurled, petal by petal, lured open by the soft fingers of dawn that basked the town in a white glow. It was something Keith had never noticed before, and was enough to draw him away from his camera for a moment, just so he could watch the light peer over the slanted rooftops spread into the distance.

“It’s pretty, right?” Lance asked, standing beside Keith. His hands were on his hips and he was wearing an apron now – a white one, trimmed with blue and stamped with the flower shop’s name across the centre. The slippers were gone, replaced by old sneakers with dirty laces that looked both poor and incredibly comfortable next to the dress shoes Keith wore to work. Keith was struck with a feeling of envy at the sight of them.

The sunrise wasn’t the only thing that was pretty, but Keith kept that thought to himself. It was a small secret, tucked away into his mind where he could revisit it when he felt the need to. His mother used to fold paper into stars and keep them in a painted glass jar – _“They’re wishes,”_ she told him, a nostalgic smile on her face, _“and they remind me of the little memories I store up to save for a rainy day.”_ That’s what that moment way to him; a little paper star for later.

Keith started to take photographs of Lance, too. At first it hadn’t been intentional. Rather, Lance had bent into one of his frames to rearrange the flowers beside the ones Keith had been photographing, and he’d thus ended up in the shot. Keith stood up after the shutter had clicked to review the photo, and found that it was perhaps the best of them all only because Lance was in it. The flowers were a permanent fixture, but Lance wasn’t. He was a real, moveable subject, one that made the rest of the image became sharp and colourful. Keith didn’t know how a single person could alter the shot so beautifully. 

“You’re not much of a talker, huh?” Lance asked, watching him with curious, mischievous eyes. He was pulling out more flowers from the refrigerated storeroom, filling the display in front of the shop with methodical and systematic care. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No,” Keith said, helplessly rising to the bait Lance dangled in front of his eyes. “Talking to strangers just isn’t my thing.”

Lance didn’t seem offended by the comment, just amused. “You should get to know me, then,” he said. Was he flirting? It sounded like flirting. Was it? Lance still wore that wide grin and on anyone else it would have been infuriating, but not him.

When the birds had all risen to begin their merciless chirping, Lance turned on the radio. It was an old thing, resting slanted on the front desk with a wobbly antenna stretched up into the air. The dial was permanently angled towards a channel that played cheerful but effortlessly quiet Spanish music. Lance knew all the lyrics. When Lance stood beside the desk delicately wrapping a bouquet of purple flowers in brown paper, Keith took a photo of him.

 

The second morning, Keith took more photos of the flowers. They filled every crevice of the shop and sprawled into the aisles, bursting with lush leaves and healthy petals. When he walked through the shop they caressed his arms and clung to his clothes, leaving him feeling refreshed and excited. They were covered in tiny, sparkling drops of early-morning dew that Lance had sprinkled on them with a metal watering can, or in the case of smaller flowers, a plastic spray bottle covered in bee stickers. The dew drops clung to Keith’s skin.

It was getting warmer in the mornings, now. Summer was right around the corner, preparing to breathe heat back into the world; Keith could feel it on his skin and taste it just subtly in the air. Though his feet shouldn’t be cold, Lance still wore his kitty slippers.

“What are the photos for?” Lance asked that morning. He was watching Keith awkwardly bend over a display to photograph the flowers behind it for a nice angle. That morning, Lance had a strange light dancing behind his eyes. It reminded Keith of the way the sun reflected off of clear, running water.

“I work for Altea Photography and Advertising,” Keith said. “This is my job.”

“To photograph random things?”

“Yeah.”

“What a life,” Lance sighed. He didn’t sound too put out, just intrigued. “Does that mean your boss is Allura?”

“You know her?”

“Everyone does, duh,” Lance said. “They don’t call her a Princess for nothing, you know. She’s a real babe. I love her hair.”

Keith only hummed. Everyone liked Allura. She was beautiful and smart and kind, and she never overworked her employees. Keith enjoyed her company. She could charm the stripes off a tiger and make it never once miss them, too. He liked working for Allura, even if she had a weird uncle who might not even be her actual uncle hanging around her all the time. Coran was just a weirdo.

“Are all her employees such babes, too?”

Keith spluttered, his grip on his camera fumbling. Lance just grinned at him and yeah, that was definitely the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen and it was goddamn adorable.

 

Morning three saw light rain fall across the town. It was pretty and it spread a sense of calmness, but it brought grey clouds with it, clouds that blocked out most of the white, morning sunlight. Keith’s work didn’t start until well past sunrise, but Lance’s work rose with the sun, so Keith joined him.

“I don’t think you can take photos today,” Lance said, frowning petulantly. He caught on ridiculously quick. “The lighting isn’t that good, right?”

“Nothing the camera settings can’t fix,” Keith said. It was a little white lie – taking photos in such dismal lighting would be hard, but not impossible. He just needed to go for a different look, that was all, and with all the material around a photographer could ever wish for…

Well, the pretty Spanish boy did look rather beautiful even in the soft, grey lighting.

 

“You’re seeing someone,” Shiro said.

“I’m not,” Keith answered.

“You’d never get up so early in the morning for so many days in a row if there wasn’t some reward in it,” Shiro said. He had that gentle smile he often wore on his face but today it just made Keith feel flustered. He’d known Shiro for a while, even before they worked together, and he hated it how Shiro could read him so easily. Then again, Shiro could read everyone.

“I’m really not,” Keith said, sulking.

Shiro laughed, and ruffled his hair. “What’s her name then?”

Keith frowned grumpily. He tried not to squirm. “His,” he muttered.

 _“His_ name, then,” Shiro said, amused but not discouraged. “What is it?”

“Lance.”

“Is he pretty?”

Keith’s frowned deepened. He definitely wasn’t pouting. _“Yes.”_

“Good for you,” Shiro said. He sounded honestly pleased which made it a lot harder to resent him and his perceptiveness. “Does he like you?”

Keith shrugged a shoulder. He hadn’t really asked, not that he would. He’d only know Lance for a few days, after all. Sure, they talked for hours in the morning, but a lot of it was polite questioning and teasing banter. Keith didn’t really believe in all that _love at first sight_ stuff, but he did believe that Lance was more interesting than the average person. Lance really did like his stupid puns and his stupid slippers, after all. 

“Why don’t you ask him out?” Shiro suggested. 

Keith made a strangled noise, his ears turning red. God, if Lance was pretty at the crack of dawn in tasteless kitty slippers, what would he look like all dressed up for a date? Keith felt like his brain was short-circuiting on him. 

“Alright, alright, don’t go swooning on me now,” Shiro said, laughing. “Just think about it, yeah?”

 

It was all he could think about. The next morning was warm and sunny again and Keith helplessly followed Lance around like a bee to honey. Lance was telling him all about the flowers he was setting up – their names, their meanings, what they went well with in a bouquet – but all Keith could do was take photos of him. His hair was a mess and it looked silky but his skin had a soft glow to it that made it look prettier than a girl’s could ever look. 

“So what are you going to do with the photos?” Lance asked as he set out pots of growing plants along the outdoor display shelves. “They’re for your work, right?”

Keith flushed and distractedly hid his flustered look behind his camera screen. “Allura has gallery events every six months. The pieces go up for sale and all proceeds go to charity. I might enter them for consideration.”

“You should,” Lance said, grinning. “My flowers would definitely win!”

A small smile touched Keith’s face. “They are very pretty,” he said. “I think I’ve got some really good shots in here.” 

He hadn’t only taken photos of the flowers (and Lance) during his wandering around _Blue Morning._ He took photos of the store, too. There were wonderful shots of the storefront and its pretty displays and the inside front desk with its old radio. He’d even taken a photo of Lance’s slippers sitting beside an armful of wrapped bouquets leaning against the wall.

“If you do put them on display, I want to come see,” Lance said. “Make sure to invite me!”

“A-alright.”

 

He was going through the photos when Allura suddenly appeared behind him. “Are you submitting those?” She asked curiously, peering over his shoulder.

Keith flushed. The photo he had up was luckily one without Lance. “Yeah,” he answered. “What do you think?”

She hummed, and reached over to flick through the photos. Her eyebrows shot up at the ones he’d taken of Lance. “Why don’t you submit these ones instead?”

 

“Am I going the right way?”

“Yes,” Keith said for the hundredth time. “Just follow the crowd and-”

“Ah!” Lance suddenly exclaimed. “I see you! Can you see me, Keith?”

Keith winced. Lance was pretty loud, and he was impossible to miss. He was standing in the entrance to the gallery, waving his arm high in the air. Just the sight of him had Keith flustered. Lance had scrubbed up real nice, just like Keith had guiltily imagined he would. The event was pretty high-class, but Lance was wearing a really nice suit and dress shoes and he’d even brushed his hair, though there were still some awkward tuffs that stuck up.

“Where are yours?” Lance asked, eyes wide and blue. “I can’t wait to see!”

Keith gave him a nervous smile. “I haven’t gone to see them yet,” he said. In the end he’d sent Allura a whole bunch of photos, some with Lance and some without. He was surprised his work had been chosen for the display – she’d come to find him not long after the opening to inform him the pictures had been bought. It was incredibly flattering, but very nerve-wracking, too. He didn’t even know which ones she’d chosen.

“Let’s go then!” Lance declared.

Lance’s hand was warm around his as the pretty Spanish boy dragged him through the gallery. He clearly had no idea where he was going and no clue about social etiquette, but Keith found his bumbling loudness kind of charming. Besides, like this, Lance had no idea that Keith was staring at him with what was likely the dopiest look on his face. 

They found his photos displayed along one of the southern walls. There were seven pieces in all – the usual amount for each artist in Allura’s event – and there was one thing that drew his eyes to them like nothing else ever had.

Lance was in all of them. 

Keith stared up at the images, eyes wide, lips parted. He’d never had the chance to look at his own work this way, let alone look at his photos of Lance. He’d only ever snuck embarrassed glances at them, kept them treasured in his mind like little paper stars. Now they were put out for everyone to see. 

Including Lance.

Keith turned to face him, eyes wide and anxious.

But Lance was still staring at the photos. “I didn’t know you took these,” he said, voice light and airy. “Are those my lion slippers?”

“Kitty slippers,” Keith corrected him, voice strangled.

Lance laughed. He had a really nice laugh. His arms were warm when he slipped them around one of Keith’s, and his fingers were kind of sweaty when he grabbed onto Keith’s hand, but it wasn’t bad. “You creepy little weirdo,” he teased, hiding an affectionate smile in Keith’s shoulder. “You should have just said.”

“I could say the same to you,” Keith answered. He still sounded strangled and it probably had everything to do with the fact that he was bright red and as stiff as a pole.

“Should have just done what Hunk and Pidge said,” Lance mumbled. “Should have wooed you with flowers.”

Keith let out a choked noise.

Lance peered up at him, his cheeks dusted with pink. “Would you have understood?”

“I would have Googled it,” Keith said. “I Googled you.”

“Keith!” Lance complained. “At least ask me out first.”

“I, I mean-” Keith spluttered, “I kinda did! You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Fine,” Lance conceded, “but I’m choosing the venue next time. And I’m not wearing a penguin suit.”

 _Next time._ It was ridiculous that two little words like that could make him stupidly happy. 

Lance sighed, but it was a content sound. He rested his head against Keith’s shoulder again, staring up at the photos with stars in his eyes. “I wonder who bought them,” he said. “Isn’t it weird that they bought pictures of me?”

Feeling eyes on him, Keith glanced across the room. Allura and Shiro were talking with Allura’s weird not-uncle, but as he glanced over, Allura met his eyes. He glanced at the photos once, and she only grinned. Keith wanted to laugh.

“I think I know,” he said. “They’ll probably be here for a while.”

Lance laughed. “Good! Now I get to see them more. You know, you should take pictures of both of us next time. And take pictures when I’m properly awake!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’re never awake that early in the morning.”

Lance just grinned. “I can think of something that’ll motivate me to be."


End file.
